


The Punchline

by Willaphyx



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellamy and Clarke meet at a wedding, F/M, Minor Raven Reyes/Kyle Wick, past clarke/lexa - Freeform, this is basically just fluff, with a little bit of angst thrown in for fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4051984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willaphyx/pseuds/Willaphyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or the one where Maid of Honor Clarke and Best Man Bellamy are the only two single people at Raven and Wick's wedding.  After an evening spent not getting drunk and talking, Clarke decides he might just be the way to get over her recent breakup.  Unless their night together spawns something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clarke Griffin’s alarm went off, trilling loudly and obnoxiously from its post on her nightstand, at 8:30 AM.

She rolled over onto her back and groaned, throwing a hand over her eyes, squeezing them shut, the noise of her alarm drilling its way into her head.  Maybe, just _maybe_ if she pretended she couldn’t hear it, the noise would stop, she could go back to sleep, and this day could be over.

It wasn’t the earliness of the hour that was throwing Clarke off.  As a doctor who had just finished her residency the year before she was used to keeping weird hours.  8:30 was almost late in her book.  No, it wasn’t the time, or the fact that it was the first Saturday in months that she’d had off.

The reason Clarke had been dreading this Saturday for the last three months had nothing to do with any of that and everything to do with the pale blue silk dress hanging on the back of her closet.

Her maid of honor dress.

Raven Reyes had been Clarke’s best friend since Raven punched out Jimmy Cooke in the fourth grade for insulting the intricate braid in Clarke’s hair.  And that encounter had very much set the tone for the rest of their relationship.  Clarke as the visionary and Raven as the muscle.  Clarke had it on good authority that by the end of their sophomore year of college, there was practically a support group that met to cope with the tornado that was Clarke Griffin and Raven Reyes.

Well, that might have been a bit of an exaggeration but it gets the point across.

This long shared history was the reason why Clarke has sliding that blue silk dress off its hanger as she pulled out one of her only wearable pairs of nylons.  Because today was Raven’s wedding day and she’d asked Clarke to be her maid of honor.  And Clarke, like the dedicated best friend that she was, had said yes.

 

She hurried up the steps of the church at 3:35 PM, slightly late and still pushing a bobby pin into her updo, securing one last curl.  She pulled open the door and hurried down the aisle, where she intercepted one of Raven’s other bridesmaids, Harper, a girl they’d met in college.

“Where is she?” Clarke gasped, holding her side.

Her ridiculous rotation schedule meant that she didn’t have a lot of time for exercise and despite her thinner figure she definitely was nowhere near “in shape.”

“Downstairs,” Harper replied.  “I don’t even think she noticed you’re late.”

“It’s five minutes!” Clarke yelled over her shoulder as she started for the stairs.  “And the ceremony doesn’t even start for another hour and a half!”

Harper laughed and Clarke shook her head, muttering under her breath.

The ceremony went off without a hitch.  Raven looked beautiful in her white dress, none of Raven’s bridesmaids tripped in their absurdly high heels when they walked down the aisle, and Wick couldn’t keep his eyes off his wife (or the dumb smile off his face).

And Clarke?  Well, Clarke couldn’t keep her eyes off Wick’s extremely attractive best man.  He stood still and didn’t fidget like the other groomsmen, which is probably what drew her attention to him first.  But what kept it was definitely the thick jet black hair that fell in unruly curls over his forehead, the small smile on his face when Wick and Raven read their vows, and the way he kept his hands clasped in front of him, head bowed just the slightest bit.

His eyes lifted to hers as Wick slid Raven’s ring onto her finger.  And in that moment when everyone else was looking at Wick and Raven, Clarke and Wick’s best man were looking at each other.  He smiled, just the smallest amount, just the slightest of slant to one corner of his lip, and Clarke felt her breath leave her chest.

She wrenched her eyes away, feeling her heart pound in her chest and tried to forget the way his brown eyes had sparkled, that cleft in his chin, the barely there imprint of a dimple.

 _Get ahold of yourself, Clarke_ , she commanded.  _You know better than to do this to yourself._

And she did.  At least logically.  But the heaving of her chest she was fighting against wasn’t coming from any logical part of her.  And that was going to be the problem.

The reception was being held on the church’s grounds in a courtyard that looked like it had been standing for centuries (and probably had been).  The cracked paving stones were cluttered with round tables that seated eight, draped in white linen and set with shiny silver flatware.

Clarke trailed into the space with the rest of the wedding party, vaguely aware of Harper next to her, forcing herself not to scan the crowd for the best man.  With all luck she’d be able to avoid him for the rest of the event and would never have to see him again.  After all, she had a date with the unopened pint of Ben & Jerry’s that was sitting in her freezer.

She found her seat, marked by her name in intricate script on a placard, and sat carefully.  Only half the table was full but the others were all clearly…paired off.  Clarke shot daggers at one couple that was practically cooing at each other and blew out an angry breath.  This was very clearly going to be a long reception.

“Well this is going to be something, isn’t it?” a distinctively male (and not unattractive) voice asked behind her.  The statement was accompanied by the sound of the chair next to her being pulled out.  Clearly her neighbor had arrived.

“Mhmmmm—” she started to say as she turned before freezing.

Because the guy neatly folding himself into the seat next to her was Wick’s best man.  The very one she had been planning on avoiding for the rest of the evening.

He studied her, eyes dragging down to her dress and then back up to her face, but in more of a careful, appraising way than anything.  “Maid of honor?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know.

Clarke stared back, forcing her face to adopt a stony expression.  “Best man?” she quipped back.

His laugh was short.  “Clever, aren’t we?”

Clarke resisted the urge to laugh and instead reached for her water glass, taking a large sip.

She could feel his eyes on her and dutifully looked around at the rest of the tables.  There had to be over twenty of them and she had just happened to end up sitting at this one.  This had Raven written all over it and the other girl was going to be getting a stern talking to before the night was out.  Clarke would make sure of that.

“I’m Bellamy,” he said finally, after a long and awkward pause.  The words came out more like a question or an offering than a statement.

Clarke closed her eyes and swiveled in her chair to face him again.  Her eyes slid past his wary expression to the empty chair next to him.  The rest of the table had filled up while she was trying to pretend he wasn’t there, and the open seat was glaringly obvious.

“Clarke,” she replied stiffly, pretending to not see the hand he had outstretched towards her.  He retracted it, only barely hiding the hurt expression that flashed across his face.

“Your date stand you up?” she asked, deadpan.

He chuckled.  “No.”

Clarke studied him out of the corner of her eye.  He was tracing a finger around the rim of his own water glass, a far off look in his eye.  She was tempted to ask him to elaborate but that meant letting on that she cared.

“And you?” he asked cautiously.  “No date?”

Clarke chewed on her lip then looked him straight in the eye.  “My girlfriend dumped me two weeks ago.  So no, no date.”

A horrified look took over his face.  “Oh, Jesus Christ,” he muttered.  “I’m sorry.”

Clarke meant to snap back something angry that would likely have _him_ ignoring _her_ for the rest of the evening but there was something in his voice that wiped her mind.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said after a long pause.

His lips ticked up again and that dimple she’d noticed during the ceremony deepened.  Her stomach twisted.  She cursed herself.

“How do you know Wick and Raven?” she asked pathetically.

“I slept with Raven,” he replied immediately.

Clarke slammed her water glass down onto the table and leaned toward him.  “You _what?_ ”

“Before she knew Kyle,” he added.

She sat back.  “Right, okay, better.  And now you’re what?  Friends with both of them?”

He nodded, sipping at his own water.

“Does Wick know?”

Bellamy cracked a small smile.  “Yep.”

“And he doesn’t care?”

Bellamy chuckled.  “I’m his best man, aren’t I?”

Clarke looked away, nodding slowly.  “Right.  Of course.”

When she looked back he was smiling wider.  “And you?”

“Raven’s been my best friend forever.”

“You’re the best friend?”

“Yes?”

“Raven talks about you a lot. But I’ve never caught your name.”

Clarke fell back in her chair.  “Well, here I am.”

“Clarke,” he said carefully, as if he was testing the way the name sounded on his tongue.  “It suits you.”

“Thank you.”

He opened his mouth to say something else but a salad was slid in front of both of them and they both immediately picked up their forks, wearing matching relieved expressions that neither of them saw.

 _Fucking hell_ , Clarke thought as she speared a tomato.  _Why did he have to be hot_ and _nice?_

Sometime in between the dinner and dessert courses, Harper dragged Clarke away from the table for “an emergency” which turned out to be a conga line.  One of her hands was on Harper’s shoulders while the other was trying to keep the (extremely drunk) groomsman behind her from groping her ass when she saw Bellamy skirting the edge of the dance floor, Raven close behind him.  Her eyes followed him as he slid behind the bar, Raven beaming at him and mouthing something that Clarke couldn’t make out.

He moved with an easy fluidity in the space, preparing drinks with the practiced ease of a seasoned professional.  It was mesmerizing.  Clarke only looked away when the groomsman behind her took advantage of her distraction and pinched her upper thigh.  Clarke reared away, pulling Harper with her.

“Okay,” Clarke hissed.  “That’s it, I’m done.”

Harper was barely able to stifle her laughter and she nodded.  “I’ll catch up with you later.”  She rejoined the line, managing to slide in behind the drunk groomsman (lucky her) and the line continued past.  Clarke’s eyes again went to Bellamy behind the bar where he was pouring a martini and listening carefully to a tipsy girl Clarke thought she recognized from college.

Before she realized she was doing it, Clarke was marching over to the bar and throwing herself onto the stool next to Tipsy Sorority Chick (that’s where Clarke had seen her before).  Bellamy’s attention slid seamlessly over to her and he cracked a small smile.

“Hey there, stranger,” he said easily, sliding the girl’s martini to her.  Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke thought she saw a pout.

“Hey,” she replied easily.

“What can I get for you?”

“Just a Coke, thanks.”

“Coming right up.”

He poured it for her, eyes focused carefully downwards.  Sorority chick had stalked off with her martini and the action at the bar had momentarily calmed down.

“Are you also secretly the bartender?” Clarke joked as he dropped ice cubes into her drink.

Bellamy laughed and shook his head.  “No.  The actual bartender’s on a smoke break.  And I bartend on weekends to help pay for rent.  Raven asked me to take over for a bit.”

Clarke nodded, watched the play of muscles in his forearm.  She mentally kicked herself but she didn’t look away.

“Look at us, huh?” Clarke said cautiously as he pushed her drink toward her.  She took extra care to make sure their fingers didn’t brush as she took the glass.  “A couple of pathetic single people with no date to a wedding.”

Bellamy chuckled.  “Then what’s the punchline?”

Clarke met his steady gaze and felt her cheeks color.  “I don’t know,” she admitted.

He smiled.  “Then maybe the joke’s not over yet.”

She took another sip of her drink.  “I guess not.”

Bellamy raised a half-full glass of something clear to his lips and took a long drag, eyes raking over the crowd behind her.  When he put it back down Clarke noted the small trails of bubbles and frowned.

“Is that Sprite?”

His smile was lop-sided as he answered, “yeah.  I don’t drink.”

“Any particular reason?”

He considered her for a minute before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a coin.  He slapped it down on the bar in front of her and braced himself, studying her face.  She looked up at him and then back at the coin, hefting it up in her hand.  It was heavier than she would have expected, a dull bronze color that had faded over time.

There was a raised triangle in the center, surrounded by the words “to thine own self be true.”  In the center of the triangle the number 1 was surrounded by a circle, the word “year’ written in blocky print under it.

Shame rushed through her as the pieces clicked together in her mind.

“Fuck,” she muttered.  “I’m sorry.”

The easy smile on his face when she looked up caught her off guard.  “My sister gave that to me six years ago.  It’s my most treasured possession.”

“Seven years, congratulations.”

He nodded.  “Thank you.  It’s a daily struggle.  But I’m winning the war.”

“Yet you still tend a bar?”

“I started doing it as a test for myself.  Now, I don’t even notice.  It’s just a job.”

Clarke nodded.  “Makes sense.”

He studied her again.  “You recognized the token awfully fast,” he commented carefully.

She shrugged.  “My dad’s best friend when I was growing up was an alcoholic.  He, uh, he tried AA.  It didn’t work.”

“Shit,” Bellamy said, scrubbing a hand through his hair.  “Past tense, that’s never good.”

“Ran himself off the road and into a pole at seventy miles an hour.  The paramedics said he was dead on impact.”

“Shit,” he repeated.

“Hardly the conversation for a wedding though,” Clarke said brightly after a pause.  “You know what is though?”

He leaned on the bar, smiling again.  “What?”

“Making fun of everyone who gets _really really_ drunk and embarrasses themselves,” she whispered.

He laughed outright at that and that sparkling light was back in his eyes.  “All right, princess.  Let’s see what you got.”

Thirty minutes later the bartender comes back from his “smoke break” and reclaims his position behind the bar.  He and Bellamy do that weird bro nod thing that has Clarke rolling her eyes.

Bellamy was laughing so hard he was almost choking on his drink and Clarke was almost crying.  “God, that has got to be one of the most offensive but _hilarious_ things I have ever heard,” she wheezed out, pressing a hand to her chest.

Bellamy grinned through his laughter.  “Says the girl who gives it as good as I do.”

“Whoa, whoa, pump the brakes there, bucko,” she said with a smile.  “Was that an innuendo?”

Bellamy blushed and looked away.  Clarke grinned down at her soda, momentarily forgetting that she’d been broken up with just weeks before and she wasn’t supposed to be falling for the best man at Raven and Wick’s wedding.  But damn it, here she was.

“Why?” he asked finally.  “What if it was?”

Clarke looked over at him through the curtain of her hair.  “I don’t know,” she answered finally.

“And if I ask you to dance?”

She smiled again.  “Now that I would say yes to.”

He stood up and held out a hand to her.  “Then follow me, my lady.”

Clarke really shouldn’t have gotten up to dance with him because Bellamy was a _fantastic_ dancer.  She really wished she had started drinking because then at least she would have been able to blame the weakness in her knees, flush high in her cheeks, and fluttering in her chest on the alcohol.  But she was as sober and the only excuse for the butterflies in her stomach was that she was significantly more attracted to Bellamy Blake than she should have been.

Him and his sinfully good dancing.

And honestly, how could a girl be faulted for liking a guy who looked at her like she was the only one in the room?  A guy whose smile lit up the room?  A guy who looked like a fucking statue?  A guy whose hands fit perfectly into the curves of her hips, because yeah, she’d noticed.

“You know,” she said, a little breathless as he spun her in a circle.  “I’m having a lot more fun than I thought I would.”

He pulled her back into his chest but she still caught the smile that crossed his face.  “Well,” he said in a low voice that should have been illegal.  “I’m glad to hear it.”

Clarke caught Raven’s eye across the dance floor where she had her arms wrapped tightly around Wick.  Her best friend grinned and mimed raising a glass in her direction.  Clarke rolled her eyes and turned away, pulling Bellamy deeper into the swarm of couples.

“So tell me,” Bellamy said a few minutes later.  “Why are you really here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied innocently.

Bellamy stopped and let go of her.  Clarke immediately felt the loss of his hands on her skin.  She crossed her arms, trying to play cool.

“You got broken up with two weeks ago.  Raven’s your best friend so I’m guessing she knows.  I’m also sure that she told you you didn’t have to do this if you didn’t want to.  So, I’ll ask again: why are you here?”

She sighed and looked away.  “I had to be here.  A wedding is a special day for anyone but for Raven…well, you know what she’s like.  You knew her pre-Kyle so you probably get what I’m talking about.”  She chewed on her lip, thought for a minute.  “No one ever thought Raven was going to get married,” she added bluntly.  “And now here she is.  And I’ve never seen her so happy.  So there was never any other option other than me being here.”  She looked him straight in the eye and continued.  “That a good enough reason for you?”

“You’re a special kind of girl, Clarke Griffin,” he said, admiration that made Clarke’s cheeks redden coloring his voice.

“Thank you.”

He smiled at her again.  “I know this is probably really tacky and not something that most people would advise but…” he trailed off, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.

Clarke tilted her head to the side.  “But what?”

He looked back at her, eyes serious.  “You want to get out of here?”

Clarke should have immediately said no.  She should have turned on her heel and walked away.  She should have been at least tempted to do both of these things.  But instead she just stared back at Bellamy, at the earnest look in her eyes, and felt something hot spread through her.

“You know, I really should say no,” she said carefully.  “Considering I was just broken up with and all.”

“But?” he prompted.

“But I’ve never been a fan of what I should do,” she continued, watching as a wide smile spread across his face.

“My place or yours?”

Clarke grinned back.  “Doesn’t matter to me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Raven asked, eyes sliding down Clarke’s form, taking in her mussed hair, rumpled dress, and undone shoes.
> 
> Clarke sighed. “I really don’t want to do this right now,” she mumbled. “Can I take a nap and you can yell at me later?”
> 
> Raven crossed her arms. “No. And I asked you a question.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider dropping me a line here or on Tumblr if you like the chapter?

Lexa had hardly been Clarke’s first serious breakup and Bellamy had hardly been her first one night stand. He hadn’t even been her first attempt at getting over Lexa. She’d had flings with both men and women but all their encounters shared common threads: Clarke never took a conquest back to her place and she never stayed the night. Ever.

But then, she should have known just from the wedding itself that Bellamy was going to be different.

The sex had been asbolutely mind-blowing. But she’d been expecting that. Bellamy Blake was basically sex on legs with a voice to match. What she hadn’t been expecting was how at home she felt in his arms, how he made her forget that her heart had been torn to shreds and she was nowhere near piecing herself back together, how this touch had felt both familiar and excitingly new at the same time.

He’d traced over her curves like she was something magical, a work of art maybe, or a historical artifact that belonged in a museum. There was no word for it other than worship and Clarke was drunk and blissful on the feeling. His fingers were calloused but his hands soft, scholar’s hands, her brain had supplied feebly as he rid her of her bra, and the dual, contrasting sensations had had her shivering. And she’d never given much thought to guys’ hair but damn, there certainly was something thrilling about the feather-light brush of his bangs against her stomach as he smiled into her hipbone.

He kissed her after, slow and lazy, but still passionate, and the careful swipe of his tongue against hers had her eyes closing and her breath escaping in an uneven sigh. She was exhausted and boneless and, when he pulled away, she unconsciously curled into his side, tucking her head under his chin, half unaware of what she was doing, chasing his warmth and the careful rise and fall of his chest.

The last thing she felt before she drifted off to sleep was his arm tightening around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer, and the barely-there kiss he dropped onto the crown of her head.

 

Clarke’s eyes snapped open the next morning, her body taut, breathing sharp.

Her mind was fuzzy, her brain frazzled, not from a hangover but something else entirely.

It was then that she realized she wasn’t in her own room, or any room that she recognized for that matter. And that there was a bronze arm draped carefully across her hip.

She cursed herself. This was precisely the kind of situation she always tried to avoid. The awkward next morning when she tried to sneak out but they inevitably caught her and then she had to make excuses while she jumped around some stranger’s room in only her underwear trying to find her socks.

Bellamy shifted and she stiffened again. His fingers flexed. She hissed. He sat up slowly, removing his hand from his hip to scrub across his face.

“Morning,” he mumbled. “It is morning, right?”

Clarke glanced over at his night table and her very dead phone.

Fuck, she thought.

“I assume so,” is what she said.

He nodded, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. She tried not to stare too long at his pillow-creased skin or his tousled hair, sticking in every direction, or the sleepy look in his eyes but just like yesterday at the reception, there was something about Bellamy that drew her in and wouldn’t let her look away.

“So, breakfast?” he asked suddenly. “I don’t have much but I have a couple kinds of cereal, eggs, and maybe some oatmeal buried in the back of the cupboard from when my sister was moving apartments and crashed on my couch.”

Clarke’s mouth went dry. He was looking at her expectantly, eyebrows quirked.

“I, uh,” she said, tripping over her words. “I should probably go.”

She saw the exact moment that he read between the lines. “Oh,” he said, voice weaker. “If that’s how you want it to be.”

“You knew this wasn’t anything special last night, Bellamy,” she replied crossly, “don’t put all this on me.”

He looked over at her, incredulous. “Please,” he muttered.

“What?”

“I like you, okay? And I know you like me.”

“Don’t make this into more than it is. Please.”

“Then do me a favor and don’t make it less.”

“Bellamy,” she said, sliding out of bed and reaching for her dress. “I was just broken up with two weeks ago. I’m really not interested in doing this dance with you right now.”

“Fine,” he said darkly. “Then you can let yourself out. I’m going back to sleep.”

And he rolled over and did just that. Clarke zipped up her dress, stepped into her shoes, and carefully crossed the room to the door, straightening her hair as best she could. Impulsively, just before she left the room, she turned and studied his sleeping form. His back was to her but she could see the lines of his shoulder and hip under the top sheet and the unruly mess of her hair.

She swallowed hard and rushed out before she was tempted to clamber back into bed with him.

Jesus Christ, she thought as she hailed a cab on the street outside his building. One night with the guy and you’re already attached to him. You need to get a grip, Griffin.

Clarke found Raven sitting on her doormat, aimlessly twirling a piece of her hair, looking glow-y and happy but also lethal and ready to kill someone. And judging from the glare she fixed Clarke in as soon as the blonde reached her landing, that person was probably her.

Raven unfolded herself from the ground with the feline grace Clarke had envied since she’d met her but Clarke wasn’t watching that today. She was watching Raven’s eyes narrow as she leaned against her front door.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Raven asked, eyes sliding down Clarke’s form, taking in her mussed hair, rumpled dress, and undone shoes.

Clarke sighed. “I really don’t want to do this right now,” she mumbled. “Can I take a nap and you can yell at me later?”

Raven crossed her arms. “No. And I asked you a question.”

Clarke pushed lightly past Raven to jam her key in the lock, turning it and admitting both of them into her apartment. “Then you can at least do me the favor of not having this conversation where all of my neighbors can hear it.”

Raven rolled her eyes.

“And to answer your question,” Clarke said, making a beeline for her coffee maker on the kitchen counter. “I did exactly what I’m sure you wanted me to do, Rae. I’m rebounding.”

“Not with Bellamy, you’re not,” Raven growled. “He deserves much better than that.”

“He texted you, didn’t he?” Clarke groaned.

Raven shrugged. “Well, yeah, but everyone saw you two leave together last night.”

Clarke’s head thumped down onto the counter as the coffee maker spluttered and hissed behind her.

“You know,” Raven continued thoughtfully, “one day that thing is literally going to explode and kill you.”

“It’s a worthy way to go,” Clarke mumbled into her arm, “maybe it can happen right now. Save me all this trouble.”

Raven hummed. “You’ve got to atone for your sins first, babe.”

Clarke groaned and pushed herself up, pouring two cups of coffee and handing one to Raven who nodded in thanks.

She plugged her phone in and it vibrated to life. Clarke stared at her home screen and barely resisted the urge to curl up in a ball on the floor and not get up.

You’re twenty-six, Clarke, she scolded herself. Get yourself fucking together.

“Are you also to blame for Bellamy getting my number?” she asked quietly, staring at the two waiting texts on her phone from an unknown number.

Raven shuffled.

“Jesus, Rae!”

Raven shrugged. “He seemed desperate. Anyway, I have no interest in being your mediator.”

“We wouldn’t need a mediator if you’d just left it alone,” Clarke hissed back.

Raven shrugged again. “And in case you were curious I didn’t seat you two next to each other so you could fuck him and then ditch him.”

“I didn—”

Raven held up a finger. “Nuh-uh. I seated you next to each other because Bellamy is a good person and he’s a good friend of mine and I thought maybe you could use a friend.”

“In my defense it wasn’t my idea,” Clarke grumbled. “He asked.”

“It’s a free country, Clarke dear, you could have said no.”

“You fucked him, you know what he’s like. All persuasive and shit.”

Raven’s lips tipped up in a smile. “True.”

“God,” Clarke muttered, reaching for the bottle of Bailey’s in her cupboard. “Why did I do that?”

“Clarke, babe, here’s the thing,” Raven said after a long pause. “I know that Lexa hurt you. And I know that you’re upset. But you can’t wallow forever.”

Clarke glared at her.

“I mean, theoretically you can. But don’t expect me to stick around and watch. And for the love of God, leave Bellamy out of it, okay? He’s had enough shit in his life he doesn’t need you to trample all over his heart to.” Raven considered her baffled look. “The guy was looking at you like you hung the moon.” Clarke exhaled. “Exactly,” Raven said carefully. “Now I’m going to go back to my husband who is currently making me animal-shaped pancakes and you are going to take a shower, put yourself back together, and think long and hard about what you want. Call me when you figure it out, okay, babe?”

Begrudgingly, Clarke nodded. She couldn’t help the small smile that crossed her face when Raven leaned up on her tiptoes and smacked a kiss to her cheek.

“By the way, how’s married life?” Clarke yelled after her friend as she crossed the living room.

She could hear the smile in Raven’s voice when she called back, “You’ll just have to find out for yourself!”

The door slammed shut behind her and Clarke sagged against the counter, staring down into her rapidly cooling cup of coffee. She drained it in one gulp and shuffled into the bathroom, stripping off her dress and turning on the shower.

The gush of water against her hand already felt refreshing and she sighed, feeling some of the tension leave her body. She stepped under the spray and smoothed her hair back, working out the knots with her fingers.

Flash.

Bellamy’s more than capable hands tracing though her hair, grasping it in one hand as he kissed down her neck.

Flash.

Bellamy nibbling on her collarbone as she panted into his pillow.

Flash.

Bellamy pressing light kisses down her stomach into the V of her hips as she shivered and gasped.

Flash.

Clarke flipping them over and pressing him into the mattress, loving the star-struck look in his eyes as he took her in above him.

“The guy was looking at you like you hung the moon,” Raven’s voice repeated in her head.

Clarke slammed a fist into the tile wall of her shower.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck!”

 

Clarke almost called Bellamy three times.

She wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted to say to him. Her thoughts on the subject were straying more along the “fake it till you make it” line but she’d consistently thrown her phone away before she’d clicked the call button.

Raven was right, she really did need to get her shit together. Except the problem was that she didn’t even know where to begin with that.

What did she want?

The never-ending stream of one night stands she used to “get over” her breakups? A friend with benefits? A barrel-full of cats to keep her company until she was ninety?

She thumped her head repeatedly into the back of her couch, groaning.

The memories had started with her shower earlier and hadn’t ended, haunting her.

The shyness with which he’d asked her to dance, his willingness to open up about his past alcoholism and the steps he was taking to vanquish it, the smile in his voice when he’d talked about his sister, the possessive way he’d pulled her closer the night before, the clean scent of him in her nostrils.

Her mind couldn’t help but jump to all the ways he was so different from Lexa. How he was warm where she was cold, how he was welcoming and open where she was careful and closed off. How he’d worn his affection on his sleeve, announcing his attraction to her to all of the wedding’s guests while Clarke had had to agonize over whether or not Lexa actually liked her for the first several weeks of their fledgling relationship.

Raven was right, she realized around lunchtime. Bellamy was a good man. And he did deserve much better than what she’d done to him.

She almost called him again. But then decided that “hey, I’m sorry?” was kind of a shitty thing to say to someone and maybe saying nothing at all would be a better option. She dug a half-eaten pint of ice cream out of the freezer to help cope with that decision.

The only thing it succeeded in doing was making her feel sick.

The evening found Clarke curled up with a blanket and Sex and the City reruns on Bravo!, until the earliest acceptable time to go to sleep.

She dropped into unconsciousness with the ghost feeling over Bellamy’s arm around her middle and hair brushing her cheek.

 

It was over her breakfast of lightly buttered toast the next morning that Clarke made her decision.

Sighing, she picked up her phone and pressed speed dial two, chewing aimlessly on her toast and listening to it ring.

“Hey, babe,” Raven said.

“I think I made a mistake,” Clarke said in a rush.

All she could hear on the other end for a long moment was Raven’s breathing before she replied, “Damn straight you did. The diner, twenty minutes.”

“But I already ate—”

“Dry toast does not count as breakfast, Clarke,” Raven scolded. “Twenty minutes.”

Click.

Clarke slid her phone into her pocket and rolled her eyes. On her way out the door she tossed the remaining bits of toast into the garbage and grabbed her keys, swinging her purse over her shoulder.

Raven was already sitting at their booth by the time Clarke arrived fifteen minutes later. Next to her was a dark-haired girl with almost porcelain skin, dressed in that casually athletic way that always made Clarke feel like she should be out running a marathon.

Suddenly very aware of her paint-stained sweatpants and messy bun, Clarke sheepishly slid into the booth across from them, looking to Raven for an introduction.

“Clarke,” she said, wasting no time. “This is Octavia.”

The other girl smiled and held out her hand. Clarke shook it.

“I brought her so that she can personally tell you what an effect you’ve had,” Raven added.

“You’re Bellamy’s…?” she trailed off, thinking that she already knew the answer but not wanting to finish it.

“Sister,” Octavia finished with a smile.

Clarke’s face flushed. Octavia’s grin widened as a knowing look flashed through her eyes.

Clarke folded her hands on the table. “Okay?” she said, all too aware of the slight waver in her voice.

“He really likes you, Clarke,” Raven said bluntly, looking her right in the eye.

Clarke gestured to Octavia. “I thought this was why you brought her?”

Octavia grinned again as Raven glowered.

“I like her,” Octavia commented, taking a sip of her orange juice. “She’s sassy.”

“Yeah,” Raven said darkly. “That’s probably why she and Bell got along so well.”

Clarke’s cheeks flushed redder.

“He does really like you though,” Octavia said after she put down her juice. “Like really really.”

Clarke wanted to protest, say that they barely knew each other, that he couldn’t possibly have had the time to really really like her. But she squashed down those protests because they weren’t true and she knew it. Mainly because she really really liked him, too.

“I fucked up,” she said honestly. “I was scared and I fucked up.”

“He puts on a tough act but Bell’s a big softie underneath,” Octavia told her carefully. “He might take some work but if you show him that you’re sincere, he’ll let you back in again.”

Clarke looked at her helplessly. “I literally walked out on him.”

“Yeah,” Octavia said, looking at her like this was obvious. “I know.”

Clarke shrunk back a little. “Oh.”

“They’ve got one of those weird sibling relationships where they tell each other everything,” Raven explained with a wave of her hand. “It’s weird, I know.”

Clarke cracked a small smile. “What do I do?” she asked, voice small.

“First, let me ask you a question,” Octavia said seriously, leaning forward. “And don’t lie to me because if you do, I will find out and I will hurt you. Got it?”

Clarke nodded furiously.

“Okay.” She looked Clarke right in the eye and asked, “Do you like my brother?”

The answer came to her tongue as easy as breathing. “Yes.”

“How much?”

Clarke paused, searching for the right words. If only it was possible to communicate through feelings, she thought. Then she maybe could have explained the press of his lips against hers, the whisper of sweet nothings into her ear, the way he tenderly brushed her hair back before nibbling at the skin behind her ear, the way his fingers ghosted up her sides, simultaneously barely there and applying a dizzying amount of pressure, the adoration she’d seen in his eyes, the sparkle of his laugh, the way she felt safe around him, a feeling she hadn’t felt with anyone except her closest friends in too long.

“Too much,” she answered honestly.

Raven was smiling into her coffee as Octavia grinned. “Good,” the younger Blake said.

“So what do I do?” Clarke repeated.

It was Raven who answered this time. “I think you know. Fight for him, Clarke.”

 

Later that afternoon, Clarke sat on her couch, elbows on her knees, hands fisted in her hair, staring down her phone, which rested innocently on the coffee table.

She hadn’t received anymore texts from Bellamy since the first round yesterday morning but she wasn’t surprised. He’d clearly gotten the message she’d been trying to send him. Except she was just now realizing that that wasn’t the message she should have sent, wanted to send.

Carefully she reached out and picked up her phone. She clicked on his number and raised it to her ear with a trembling hand, biting her lip, praying to God that he answered.

On the second ring his voice filtered through the receiver, sending a shudder through her.

“Hello?” He sounded wary.

“Hi, Bellamy?”

She kicked herself. What a dumb thing to say.

“Yes.”

“It’s Clarke.”

Even worse. God, she needed help.

There was a pause. “Yeah, I know.”

He sounded tired, she thought.

“Can we talk?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come cry with me on [Tumblr?](http://maytheymeeetagain.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why are we here, Clarke?” he asked.
> 
> “I made a mistake,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth in an incoherent rush.
> 
> “Which part was the mistake?” he asked darkly. “Sleeping with me? Or running away after?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry about how long it's taken me to get this chapter up. Between vacation, life getting in the way, and complete lack of motivation, I struggled with getting this done. But here we are! The end! It's been a great ride, I've loved working with this universe, thank you all for coming along for the ride.

The coffee shop Bellamy asked her to meet him at was small and cozy with a handful of overstuffed couches and armchairs and a long raised wooden table with twenty chairs haphazardly grouped around it.  You could have called it cramped, but Clarke decided she preferred homey as her eyes slid from the two elderly men playing chess, to the college kid doing the crossword in the corner, to the twenty-somethings gossiping closer to the bar.

She could see why Bellamy liked it.

She checked her watch for the fifth time, stomach twisting.  The second hand seemed to be moving too slowly and she groaned, eyes ticking over to the coffee-stained mug next to her.  She considered it for a moment before standing abruptly and maneuvering back to the counter, where the only barista, a well-built guy in a beanie, was filling a syrup bottle.

“Refill?” he asked, without even looking up.

Clarke started a little and he looked up at her, smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that always made Clarke feel at home.

“That would be great,” she said, almost meekly, pushing her cup onto the counter.

He passed her back another mocha, piping hot, in what felt like seconds.

“Hot date?” he asked as he put the milk back in the fridge.

Clarke chewed on the inside of her cheek.  “I’m not sure,” she said finally.

Clearly intrigued, the barista leaned a hip against the counter.  “I think that deserves a story.”

“That’s kind of personal,” Clarke stuttered.  “I don’t even know your name.”

“Well, it’s—“

“Miller!”

The guy jerked, his face splitting into a wider smile just as Clarke felt her own go white.

She turned slowly, to see Bellamy, dressed casually in a button-down flannel, sleeves rolled up to just above the elbows, a pair of well-worn jeans, and Converse with holes along the rubber sidewall.  He looked just as handsome as he had in his tux and Clarke didn’t know if she could do this.

She could pinpoint the exact moment that he noticed her standing there, his shoulders tightening and then loosening, yet still retaining some of the tension.

“Clarke,” he said, cautiously yet not coldly.

She had to swallow a few times before she felt confident in her ability to speak.  “Bellamy.”

There was a knowing look in Miller’s eyes as he looked between them.  “Your regular?” he asked Bellamy, who nodded sharply.

“Thanks, Miller.”

“Don’t mention it.  I’m putting it on your tab, Blake.”

Bellamy chuckled, but there was no depth to it.  His eyes slid to the mug Clarke was clutching in her hands.

“You have a table?”  It wasn’t really a question.

She nodded.

He gestured with one hand, as if to say _lead the way_ , then shoved both his hands into his jean pockets.  Clarke thought she could feel Miller’s gaze on them all the way back to the table she’d staked out.

She sat carefully and chanced a look at him.  He was watching her with an inscrutable look.

“You know the barista?” she asked, carefully, trying for breezy and definitely falling short.

“He’s an old friend,” Bellamy replied immediately.  “But we’re not here to talk about Miller.”

Clarke took a sip of her coffee, almost scalding her tongue.  “No,” she said, when she’d put it down.  “We’re not.”

“Why _are_ we here, Clarke?” he asked.

“I made a mistake,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth in an incoherent rush.

“Which part was the mistake?” he asked darkly.  “Sleeping with me?  Or running away after?”

She turned her head.  “Don’t ask me questions like that,” she said softly.

He sighed.  “You’re the reason why we’re sitting here, Clarke.  This is on you now.”

There were thoughts rampaging through her brain, hundreds of them, _I didn’t want to go_ , _I’m scared, please, can’t you just understand_.  But she couldn’t say any of them.  Not to this man that she barely knew.  The problem wasn’t that she didn’t trust him.

It was that she did.

She was jolted back to attention by the sound of Bellamy’s chair scraping back.  “I can’t do this, Clarke,” he said honestly, and something ripped open inside her.  “I just can’t.  Okay?  I’m sorry.”

And he was.  That was the worst part.

“Wait!” she said, jumping to her feet.

He stopped but didn’t turn.

“I don’t regret meeting you,” she said, passionate and rushed.  “I don’t regret meeting you and I don’t regret spending the night with you.  Bellamy, I don’t regret _you_.  I don’t think I ever could.”

He turned slowly, expression written through with confusion.  “Then why did you leave?” he asked.

She pointed wordlessly to the chair he had just vacated and he sat promptly, leaning towards her just enough to let her know he was listening intently.

“I already told you that I was broken up with a couple weeks ago,” she said slowly.  “Which in itself is justification for not wanting to jump right back into another relationship.  But it was the _relationship_ , too.”

“What was her name?”

“Lexa.”

It was the first time she’d said it in weeks and it felt both painful and cathartic.

Bellamy didn’t ask anything else.

“She was…difficult,” Clarke said, struggling to find the right words.  “Brilliant, beautiful, and down underneath it all, really caring.  But she liked to hide it all under this facade, pretend she didn’t care. And I think eventually she managed to convince herself that she didn’t.  Care,” she added to answer Bellamy’s questioning look.

He looked away, drummed a finger against the arm of his chair.

“I think part of me knew that that was it,” Clarke continued, the smallest note of sadness creeping into her voice.  “That we were done.  But I didn’t want to let her go so I kept fighting for our relationship.”  She shrugged.  “Didn’t end well.  Obviously.”

The corner of Bellamy’s mouth ticked up, just the smallest amount.  “Obviously,” he repeated, hardly maliciously, just casually, as if he was noting her choice of words.

She shrugged again.  “We were engaged,” she said, not planning on saying it until the words were halfway out of her mouth.  “But she didn’t want to tell anyone.  I pushed for it, thinking stupidly that it might make her stay.  That’s when she told me we were done.”

Bellamy froze and his fingers tightened around the arm of his chair, fingers whitening.

“That’s why the wedding was so hard for you,” he said after a beat.  “What happened to her?”

“I honestly have no idea.  Last I heard, she was in Thailand.”

Bellamy hummed.  “Did you tell Raven about the engagement?  Or why she left?”

Clarke shook her head.

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want her—or anyone really—to know.”

“Know what?”

“That I wasn’t enough.  That she tossed me aside like I was nothing.”

Bellamy considered her, clearly thinking something over.  “She’s an idiot.  Because even before we went home together I knew you were the kind of girl you never let go of.”

Clarke felt herself smile.  “I think I could say the same for you.”

“You mean that?  Because I don’t want to hear it if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it, Bell.  One hundred percent.”

“Good.”

“I’m not going to fuck you over, Bellamy.  Not when I know what it feels like.”

“Look, Clarke,” he said after a brief pause, leaning forward into the space between them.  “I don’t want to push you.  And it’s not like I want to elope tomorrow either.  But I can’t be the only one who felt something between the two of us at Raven and Kyle’s wedding—”

“You’re not,” she said quickly.  He smiled, just briefly.

“And all I want is a shot," he continued. "That’s it.  A try.  A chance.  And your promise that you’ll give it everything you’ve got.”

“You have it.”

“Good,” he said, around a smile that had Clarke grinning in response.

“Oh,” she said, “and I met your sister.”

Bellamy sighed.  “Of course you did.”  He scratched the back of his neck.  “What did you think of her?”

“I liked her,” Clarke said honestly.  “And I’m sure I’ll like her a lot more when she realizes I'm serious about us.”

He laughed.  “You’re probably right about that.”  He stood and held out a hand to her.  “I don’t know how you feel about pancakes but I know this great place that serves breakfast 24/7.  If you're interested.”

She smiled coyly and looked up at him.  “Why, are you asking me out on a date?”

He tried and failed to suppress his own growing smile.  “I might be.”

“Then yes.  I love pancakes.”  She stood and grabbed his shoulders.  “But first…” she trailed off as she leaned in, slotting her lips to his, feeling his smile mirrored against her own as his hands framed her sides, just under her ribs, pulling her in tighter.

It was better than she remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come cry with me on [Tumblr?](http://maytheymeeetagain.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry with me on [Tumblr?](http://maytheymeeetagain.tumblr.com)


End file.
